


We Text

by FictionPenned



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alex asked why we even have this lever, First Meetings, Other, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: There's an itch in his fingers and the Doctor takes a step backwards, patting his pockets until he surfaces with a broken golf pencil and a crumpled mess that had once been part of a receipt from some 27th century outlet mall but is now a glorious bit of scrap paper. He scribbles a number on it that belongs to a cellphone that he barely checks these days."Tell you what, give me a call if you need anything, and I'll see if I can pull a few strings. Can't have anyone left behind, can we?"The Doctor crosses paths with O on his first day of work at MI6 and gives him his phone number in case he needs anything. It's a while before O finally sends that first text.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 216





	We Text

Grief sits heavy in the Doctor's hearts. He does his best to hide it behind floppy hair and a broad smile and quips about his bow tie, but it's a trick that wears thinner as time goes on. There are moments when he catches himself looking over his shoulder, ready to say something clever to Amelia Pond or offer Rory a quick word of encouragement, but they aren't there to hear him anymore. 

River had stayed at his side for a while, and they had passed the time the best they could, distracting each other from their pain until she felt compelled to return to her own life. He had respected that, as he always does. Marriage doesn't work if you don't make compromises, and it would be cruel of him to keep her from her professional pursuits, even if it makes the TARDIS a bit emptier and the gaping hole in his chest a bit larger. 

He busies himself with answering distress calls. Helping those in need is a worthwhile distraction, and though he is sometimes tempted to sweep a friend up into his life again as a traveling companion, he remembers that Amelia Pond had died and it was his fault, and he leaves the planet alone. 

The Doctor becomes a regular at any number of intelligence agencies, inserting his expertise and advice even when it's not welcome. It, too, lightens his burden, but it never seems to free him from it entirely. 

One day, head full of thoughts, he brushes shoulders with a stranger in the lobby of MI6. Neither of them fall, but it's enough contact that he feels the need to apologize. 

"I'm so sorry. Head in the clouds, don't know what I was thinking."

The stranger smiles, glancing down at his shoes as he answers, "My fault, probably. Bit nervous. It's my first day."

The Doctor's eyes narrow slightly. There's something familiar about this strange man. Something that nags at the back of his mind. It's something important, but he's so blinded by grief and worry and regret that he can't seem to figure out what it is. Eyes sweep over brown skin and dark eyes and the faint shadow of stubble and he shrugs the instinct away as a ridiculous notion. He meets a lot of people, but he's pretty sure he hasn't met this one. 

"Exciting things, first days!" The Doctor says, projecting a joy that he does not feel. He has a habit of hiding behind childish, manic energy. It's gotten worse lately. 

"Ah, yes, I suppose so." The words are carefully chosen, wrapped with obvious hesitation. 

The Time Lord takes a step forward, presumptuously brushing imaginary dust off of the man's shoulders. The gesture is caught halfway between strange tic and comforting gesture, and it is immediately clear that he hasn't the faintest idea how to help someone in this situation! "Don't be so nervous! They didn't even hire me and they still let me in. You'll be fine."

Curiosity lifts a single eyebrow. "What do you mean, they didn't hire you?"

"I appointed myself really. Have a habit of doing that. Things wouldn't get done otherwise." 

There's an itch in his fingers and the Doctor takes a step backwards, patting his pockets until he surfaces with a broken golf pencil and a crumpled mess that had once been part of a receipt from some 27th century outlet mall but is now a glorious bit of scrap paper. He scribbles a number on it that belongs to a cellphone that he barely checks these days. 

"Tell you what, give me a call if you need anything, and I'll see if I can pull a few strings. Can't have anyone left behind, can we?"

A glint flickers across the stranger's eyes, there and gone so quickly that it could be shrugged away as a trick of the light. "Thank you. Who should I ask for if I call?"

"Oh! I'm the Doctor," he fumbles over the greeting, reaching out a hand for a belated shake. "And you are?"

"They're calling me O, I think?" There's a breath before their hands part, and  O gestures over his shoulder, shoulders shrugging an apology. "I think they're expecting me. I'll see you again sometime."

"Good luck, O!"

There's a flash of a smile as they part ways. 

*********

It's ages before the phone buzzes in the Doctor's pocket. She's changed faces twice, held down a teaching job, suffered at the hands of her people, and resolved to be better. Or, at least, she's resolved to  _ pretend _ to be better. Sometimes she's not sure if that's the same thing. 

It takes her a minute to unlock it - bloody fingerprint shortcut gone to waste with the regeneration -- and she clicks on the notification. 

**O: Haven't seen you around. Did they finally stop letting you in?**

It takes her a minute to place the name, but when she does, her lips curl upwards in fond familiarity. 

**Doctor: Something like that. Took up other hobbies.**

**O: A man of distinction.**

**Doctor: Woman, actually.**

**O: My mistake. A woman of distinction.**

**Doctor: Easy mistake to make these days. Do it myself sometimes. The number of entrances I've bungled. You have no idea.**

**O: I can imagine. I consider myself quite good at entrances, but dramatic entrances aren't encouraged here.**

**Doctor: An under-appreciated art, entrances. I once had an argument with Houdini about them. Good at exits, Houdini. Not very good at introductions.**

**O: …**

**O: Didn't Houdini die in 1926?**

**Doctor: Yes. Well. Time travel's a bit complicated, isn't it. Bit timey wimey.**

**O: You're pulling my leg.**

**Doctor: No! Huge industry, time travel. Not here. Not yet. But it will be.**

**O: Should I start investing?**

**Doctor: Oh you shouldn't ask me. Never been good with money. Almost never have any. Had to borrow a quarter from an android a couple weeks back. Very embarrassing.**

**O: How do you get access to a time machine without money?**

**Doctor: Bit of light thievery. Don't tell anyone. Our secret.**

**O: Consider it kept.**

**O: How scandalous, being a special agent with secrets.**

**Doctor: MI6's got loads of files on me. Not hard to find if you know where to look.**

**O: Is that a challenge?**

**Doctor: Maybe. You up for it?**

The line goes dead. 

Fourteen planets and a near-miss with a group of feral yaks later, it buzzes again. 

**O: Would you be impressed if I told you that I head a department now?**

**Doctor: Depends on the department. Don't like guns. Or knives. Or lasers. Or weapons in general, really. Bit of a pacifist.**

**O: Desk work only. In charge of unexplained phenomenon. Very Fox Mulder of me.**

**Doctor: Take it you found the files, then.**

**O: Very interesting files. Not comprehensive, though. I've taken to filling in the gaps.**

**Doctor: Any good at it?**

**O: I'd say so. You've got a long history. Fingerprints everywhere.**

**Doctor: Sorry. Do try to stay out of things when I can. Only get involved when I have to. Scout's honor.**

**O: Which one of you am I talking to?**

**Doctor: Blonde, middling height, fancy myself an amateur paleontologist.**

**O: What are you wearing?**

**O: Sorry, couldn't help myself.**

**O: Don't answer that.**

**Doctor: Oh, I don't care. Favorite coat. It has pockets! Love a pocket. Can you believe that they make women's pants without pockets? A crime, making clothes without pockets.**

**O: Noted.**

**Doctor: Am I supposed to ask what you're wearing? Can't keep track of etiquette these days.**

**O: Not really necessary.**

**Doctor: Good. Don't like asking that kind of thing. Feels a bit sleazy.**

**O: Do you think I'm sleazy?**

**Doctor: No. I think you ask the right questions, O. Love a good question.**  
  


He doesn't answer her. 

It's ten planets and a brief period spent unconscious in a ditch before he texts again. 

**O: If you're a time traveler, how do you get my texts?**

**Doctor: Phone's anchored to the TARDIS. It's all a bit complicated. Good question though. I like the way you think, O.**

**O: How long is it between messages?**

**Doctor: Same as it is for you, I reckon, give or take a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Hard to tell sometimes.**

**O: A bit? Not very scientific is it?**

**Doctor: Science and language aren't always compatible. Slippery things, ideas. Always need new words and new phrases and by the time languages catch up, scientists are off on some new adventure again.**

**O: You're alien, so I would guess English isn't your first language.**

**Doctor: Correct again, O!**

**O: What is?**

**Doctor: Don't really like digging into home. Bad memories.**

**O: Really?**

**O: Surely there were good ones.**

**Doctor: Oh yes, but there are dark days too. Trying to leave those behind. Make something more of myself. Be better than I used to be. Not always easy, being better**

**O: I think we're all striving to be more than we used to be.**

**Doctor: What a winning attitude! Knew there was a reason I liked you. Always a reason.**

**O: Liked?**

**Doctor: Wouldn't text you if I didn't. So many people not enough time. I'll make time for you.**

**Doctor: Should I be more obvious? Send you kisses or something?**

**O: Maybe if you ever need a favor.**

  
  


It's only two planets this time. 

**O: If you can send kisses when you ask for a favor, can I send kisses when I ask a question?**

**Doctor: If you like. Bit unwieldy though.**

**O: What planet did you come from? Kisses.**

**Doctor: Nowhere special.**

**O: Come on, Doc.**

**Doctor: Gallifrey.**

**O: Never heard of that one. It's not in the files.**

  
  


She leaves him on read. 

**O: Did I do something wrong?**

**Doctor: Touched a nerve. I'll get over it. Thousand years gives you a lot of baggage. Working through some of it. Not always good at it.**

**O: Sorry to hear that.**

**Doctor: It's fine. I'll be fine. I'm always fine.**

**O: I believe you.**

**O: Kisses.**

  
  


It's another twenty planets before she sends him a voice message, phone perched delicately between her fingers as she stares down an impossible task. 

"Big crisis. Major crisis. Serious crisis. Big serious crisis. Kisses."


End file.
